


Nooks and Crannies - Earthquake!

by kete



Series: Nooks and Crannies [9]
Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gap Filler, Gen, different POV, ninth episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kete/pseuds/kete
Summary: The ninth episode retold from Silas' POV: Earthquake in Stockton!This was not an easy episode to re-tell as ninety percent of it plays off-ranch and can't be observed by Silas. Also I dislike the episodes where Vic stumbles through tunnels or deserts. So, what you'll find here is ninety percent slice-of-life on the ranch – and then there's an earthquake!PSA: While every fic in this series can be read as a stand-alone, there *is* an arc that develops over the course of the whole series.
Series: Nooks and Crannies [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/5228
Kudos: 17





	Nooks and Crannies - Earthquake!

**Author's Note:**

> I googled, but I haven't found any original source for the spider story. It seems to be as old as mankind. Or spiderkind even.

So, here's what happened next after poor Miss Audra's birthday debacle: Mr. Heath – much to his chagrin – s'been confined to the house. Mr. Nick done unload all the ranch paperwork on him with a smug grin. He hates paperwork, does Mr. Nick.

''Don't think you can slag off, boy, just because you've got a bum arm! Loads to do! Stud books need keepin' up and it's high time you learn to pull your weight in that department.'' With that he drops a mountain of leather bound ledgers and loose papers in front of Mr. Heath where he's sittin' at the breakfast table.

Mr. Heath regards the mess with a wary eye and shrugs with his good shoulder. ''Sure, Nick, whatever you say.''

By mid-mornin' I bring some coffee to the study. Mr. Jarrod's workin' at home these days and sits at his desk while Mr. Heath's sittin' at the table, ledgers to one side and papers to the other neatly stacked in front of him. At the moment he's holdin' a sheet of paper up, starin' at it with a frown, turns it left, then right, then upside down, and sighs.

Mr. Jarrod's watchin' him from the corner of his eye with a slight smile as he's workin' on his own ledger. Looks like he's doin' the ranch accounts. ''One thousand four hundred and seventynine times twelve point fifty -let's see...'' he mumbles as he's balancin' the last cattle sales.

''Eighteen thousand four hundred eightyseven and fifty,'' Mr Heath says absentminded, still fightin' with his paper, holdin' it up close now, then at armslength. ''Can't make heads nor tails of this,'' he mutters.

Mr. Jarrod looks down at his ledger, then at Mr. Heath. ''What did you just say?''

''Huh? Oh, I said I can't make heads nor tails of Nick's handwritin'! Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you.''

''No, no, before that!'' Mr. Jarrod says, a note of excitement in his voice.

Mr. Heath looks confused. ''I didn't – Oh, yes. Eighteen thousand four hundred eightyseven and fifty. The number you were lookin' for.''

''That's right,'' Mr. Jarrod says, consultin' his own writing again. Then: ''Twentyseven thousand nine hundred and forty six times two thousand three hundred and seventy nine?'' as he's workin' it out on paper.

''Sixtysix million four hundred eightythree thousand and five hundred thirtyfour,'' Mr. Heath answers promptly.

''Heavens above!'' Mr. Jarrod says before firin' another volley with additions, subtractions and divisions added to the multiplyin' at Mr. Heath while scratchin' feverish himself.

Mr. Heath gets more confused by the minute, but gamely answers his brother's arithmetic challenges. Finally Mr. Jarrod stops and looks at him open-mouthed.

''What?'' Mr. Heath says, at a loss.

''My dear boy, did no one ever notice this talent you have?''

''What talent?''

''You do arithmetics in your head at an amazing speed!''

''That's a talent? It's just the way I do it.''

''What about your teachers? I assume Strawberry in its hey-day must have had a school?''

''No, wasn't hardly a real school as we have here. Some ladies got together and taught whatever children showed up any given day.''

Mr. Jarrod raises his eye brows and makes an impatient gesture. ''Go on.''

''I never went.''

He gets up, signallin' that the conversation's over, and stretches like a big cat.

Mr. Jarrod grins and says, ''Oh, no, not today, my boy. Sit down again, please. Let's have a talk.''

Mr. Heath's already on his way out, but halts and turns 'round. Upon seein' his brother's face, his shoulders sag and he obeys, perchin' on the table corner.

''Tell me about your childhood, Heath. Please,'' Mr. Jarrod says firmly.

Mr. Heath sighs, but – much to my delight and Mr. Jarrod's – complies with his brother's request. ''I really didn't go to school.'' His drawl, evened out over the year he's been with us, intensifies. ''T'were my mama and Aunt Rachel who taught me everythin' I know. And Hannah. She taught me how to do laundry. And cookin'.''

''Nick would dispute that,'' Mr. Jarrod chuckles.

''Ah, he only knows my trail cookin'.''

''What did the other two ladies teach you?''

''My mama, well, she knew music, could play the piano. We didn't have one, but sometimes my uncle Matt let her play at the hotel. Paintin', needlework, the stuff that's taught to young ladies. I guess she wasn't really brought up for life in a minin' camp.''

''Do you know anything about your mother's family? Other than your uncle?''

''No.''

''Do you want me to look into it? There_ are_ ways, you know. I could hire Pinkerton's...''

''Not really, no. What good would it do? - You ever thought about havin' me investigated?''

Mr. Jarrod smiles a bit sadly. ''We talked about it, yes. But in the end we decided against it.''

''Why?''

''Because it would have looked like we didn't trust you. And we hoped you would tell us about yourself in your own time.''

''But I never did,'' says Mr. Heath, lookin' down.

''A bit, here and there,'' says Mr. Jarrod, ''but not much. Why is that, Heath?''

Mr. Heath sighs. ''My past... Look, Jarrod, it's not a place I like to revisit.'' He quirks a mirthless grin at his brother. ''But I can understand you wantin' to know. You took me in. You gave me a home. But in many ways I'm still a stranger, ain't I?''

''Do you trust me, Heath?'' Mr. Jarrod asks gently.

''I do,'' says Mr. Heath softly.

''Then talk to me. Tell me about you. The things you're comfortable with.''

Mr. Heath takes a deep breath and nods silently.

''All right then. So, what about your mother?''

''My mama taught me how to sew and knit. That's one of the things they all did for a livin', mendin' clothes, makin' new ones, when they weren't workin' waitin' tables or cleanin' houses or cookin' and bakin' bread for the miners who had no wives. And we all helped Hannah with the laundry. She didn't leave the house much.

''I think one of my earliest memories is us four in the evenin's, sittin' before the fire, the women with their books or needlework and one or the other teachin' me. I even could do a bit of cross stitch then. They got a laugh out of that, me wantin' to try. But they showed me.'' He holds up his hands and studies them. ''Don't think I still could.''

Such elegant, long-fingered hands he has, though much abused by the rough work he's done all his life. T'was Mr. Nick who gave him gloves and made him wear them.

He chuckles, blushin'. ''Don't tell Nick!''

''Your secret's safe with me,'' Mr. Jarrod vowes, amused. ''And Miss Rachel?''

''Well, she'd been a school marm back East, so she was educated. And she did teach me readin', writin' and my numbers. She did the same thing you just did – firin' away at me. And she taught me just about everythin' else I know. Which isn't much compared to your schoolin', I know. But it's always been enough for the work I do.''

''You mentioned once that you've worked from quite a young age. What was your first job?''

Mr. Heath thinks for a moment. ''I tried to be a charge boy in the mine. I must've been about six or seven or so and I thought nothin' of it. Many of us worked there. I didn't like the squeezin' into small spaces too much, but the runnin' away as fast as you can was fun!

''When I came home that night with my first honest earned ten cents, I was real proud of myself. My mama took one look at me, and blackened all over as I was, grabbed me by the collar and walked me over to Mr. Church, the mine foreman.

''The poor man was just eatin' his supper, when she called him out and gave him whatfor. Boy howdy, I'd always thought of my mama bein' as gentle as summer rain, but that night she was somethin' else! She told him exactly what she thought of him havin' young boys workin' in the mine and that he was never to allow me in there ever again no matter what.''

Knowin' her son, I can see that Miz Leah like I was there. Gentle as summer rain, but fierce when somethin' close to his heart is threatened.

''So, that was that. Of course it didn't stop me from sneakin' in, hitchin' rides and such. Started workin' for Mr. Elkins at the livery stable then.''

''Dear Lord,'' says Mr. Jarrod. ''For the record, I agree with your mother. We don't allow children to work in our mines.''

''Was glad to see that, when I did the survey this spring,'' Mr. Heath agrees.

''I remember from your notes on that that you write a beautiful copperplate.''

''That was my mama as well as Aunt Rachel. They both insisted on good handwritin'. I wonder who taught Nick?'' He takes the paper he's been studyin' earlier and hands it to Mr. Jarrod.

''Lord almighty, what is that?''

''It's supposed to be part of the stud books. I think. You'd need a Rosetta stone to be sure, though.''

''How do you know about the Rosetta stone?'' Mr. Jarrod asks surprised.

Mr. Heath gestures to the book shelves 'round the room. ''I do make use of your library, Jarrod.''

''It's ours, dear boy, and that includes you!''

Mr. Heath shrugs. Not for the first time I wonder what it must be like for him, livin' in this big house with all the valuable furniture and the fancy knick-knacks, and the porcelain and the crystal, none of which belong to him. He prob'ly still feels a bit like a guest. Or... a servant? Nothin' here belongs to me either, though I do care for it all. Nothing, except my own things in my room behind the kitchen. In that we're very much alike.

He don't have a lot of things either. He has a few more clothes than the threadbare things he came with. But other than that? His horse, his tack, rifle and handgun. That's it. Perhaps that's why he feels most comfortable with me in my kitchen?

''But,'' Mr. Jarrod, he says, ''I hardly ever see you with a book. When we sit here or in the parlor in the evenings you always seem to be mending or polishing something.''

Ha, he should see the books on Mr. Heath's night stand like I do when I do the dustin' in his room! He's readin' everythin'! There's always books containin' knowledge, like history and geography and such. And then he reads the novels Miss Audra gives him and the poetry he hears Mr. Nick mention. He even does peek in Mr. Jarrod's law books now and then! That boy for sure is curious and doin' somethin' 'bout it.

''Don't seem right to sit around idle,'' Mr. Heath mutters. ''I like to read before I sleep. Helps me sleepin' without dreams.''

''Bad dreams?'' Mr. Jarrod asks compassionately.

Oh, I could tell - but of course, I don't.

''Lots, right after the war. Not so often now, but still sometimes... Anyway, readin' helps.''

Jus' then we can hear Mr. Nick enterin' through the front door and startin' to holler as he does.

''Better get back to work,'' Mr. Heath says softly and returns to his chair behind the table. Which is my clue to leave for my kitchen and see to lunch.

**********

That night after dinner Miz Victoria and her two eldest are sittin' in the library enjoyin' their coffee. The two young'uns have already gone to bed. Or so they said. More likely they's out in the barn 'gain.

''How are you feeling tonight, dear lady?'' Mr. Jarrod asks his mother.

Miz Victoria, she's been real peaked and withdrawn these days after havin' to shoot that no-good Evan Miles.

''I'm fine, sweetheart, don't worry. I'm getting over it.''

''What else could you've done?'' Mr. Nick asks.

''Nothing I can think of,'' she says. ''Still, it hurts, Jenny and Wally not wanting to see me.''

''Any one of us was probably the last they wanted to see at Evan's funeral,'' says Mr. Jarrod. ''Perhaps with time...''

She sighs. ''Our oldest friends here in the valley.''

''Audra's keepin' up well,'' suggests Mr. Nick.

''She's young. The young move on so fast. It gets more difficult the older you get. All that shared history...''

''So,'' Mr. Jarrod, he says, changin' the subject, ''I've had a very interesting conversation with our brother Heath this morning.''

''Oh?'' says Mr. Nick, gulpin' he last of his coffee and gettin' up to look for somethin' stronger.

''Yes. He actually told me a bit about himself. It was the most I've ever heard him talk since that first night!''

''Tellin' you what?'' Mr. Nick asks interested as he's pourin' a whisky.

''About his childhood in Strawberry.''

''Oh?''

''Nick, dear,'' inserts Miz Victoria as he's jus' sittin' down 'gain, ''be so good and pour me a sherry, would you?''

He grunts and gets up 'gain. ''Of course, Mother, sorry I forgot. Jarrod?''

''Yes, please.''

''Well, what about it?'' Mr. Nick says, fillin' two glasses.

''He never went to school. The three ladies who raised him gave him quite a thorough, if rather eclectic, education. Aged six or seven he tried to be a charge boy in the mine, but his mother wouldn't let him. So, he started working at the livery stable.''

''Never went to school? Lucky boy!'' Mr. Nick chuckles and brings the glasses over to where Miz Victoria and Mr. Jarrod are sittin', then sits down himself and downs his drink.

Mr. Nick and school – 'a traumatic experience for everyone involved', to quote Mr. Jarrod. I don't rightly 'member how often he was cited for truancy, but I do 'member that one time his school report made mention of the days he was there instead of the ones he missed. Mr. Tom was really considerin' takin' him out behind the woodshed, he was that desperate. But he never had the heart for it.

Now, don't get me wrong, Mr. Nick's anythin' but stupid! He jus' has no use for things he considers borin' or unimportant, and he don't really bows to any authority but his own. Jus' like Mr. Tom hisself. I think he musta recognized that in his second son. Even Mr. Tom couldn't get him to do anything he didn't want to. But for all his yellin' everyone knew he had a soft heart. Never raised a hand to any of his children, did Mr. Tom.

Miz Victoria sighs deeply, shakin' her head, and looks into the fire place, where I done lit a fire before dinner as the evenin's are gettin' colder, deep in thought.

''Lucky boy?'' Mr. Jarrod says. ''_You_ had a choice, Nick, _he_ didn't. You chose to skip school and go riding or fishing or whatever it was you spend your time doing. He was working because he_ had_ to.''

Mr. Jarrod now, he was different. Had his nose in a book everytime you saw him, never missed a day of school. He did go out and help on the ranch when necessary, but from the start you could tell his heart wasn't in it. I know Mr. Tom was disappointed for a while, but when it became clear that it'd be Mr. Nick followin' in his footsteps, he done reconcile with the idea of Mr. Jarrod followin' another path. And perhaps it was all for the best, 'cause what woulda happened if they both wanted the ranch, I don't know. I jus' don't think they woulda worked together as well as Mr. Nick does with Mr. Heath, 'cause none of them woulda backed down, if ever they were at odds.

''You were a holy terror, dear Nick,'' says Miz Victoria. ''Your father and I seriously considered sending you East to some military academy just so you would get some education drummed into you.''

Mr. Nick grins. ''I remember that! Father always threatened to trounce me soundly, but never did. I guess he just knew that it would do no good. I got all the education I needed, so I decided I'd just skip the borin' parts.'' He chuckles, satisfied with himself.

Gettin' serious 'gain he says, ''I wonder how those two would've got along... If Father had known, I mean. At least the boy wouldn't have had to work so young.''

''I doubt he would've defied Father's wishes the way you did, Nick. By the way, he said a few things about his mother that led me to believe she was perhaps not quite as simple as we thought. She wasn't raised to live in a mining camp, was how he put it. I offered to investigate, but he declined.''

''That's what Hannah said, too,'' Miz Victoria chimes in. ''A real lady, she said. I wonder how she got there?''

''That's what I would've liked to find out,'' says Mr. Jarrod. ''And I can't help being still curious. She wasn't older than Audra when she had Heath – and widowed already...''

''If he doesn't want you to look into it, you shouldn't,'' advises Mr. Nick.

Then Mr. Jarrod says, ''Did you know, Brother Nick, that our boy has an uncommon talent for arithmetics?''

Miz Victoria looks up.

''Arithmetics, eh?'' says Mr. Nick. ''I do know he can count real fast. Found that out early on. Before the cattle drive last year. I had set him to tally de Koven's steers and he just looked at them and came up with a number. Of course I didn't believe him then. Well, t'was the early days, you know? So, I made him count them out slowly and he did, annoyed-like. Nearly belted him. But what do you know? He was right the first time!'' He chuckles.

''And then he said, 'Nick, don't you see the pattern?' No idea what he was jabberin' on about. All I saw was cattle. Anyways, he tallies real fast. Does come in handy.''

''But, Nick, can't you see?'' Mr. Jarrod cries, jumpin' up and walkin' over to the fire place, ''He's bright. He's curious. I'm seriously thinking about providing him with more education, sending him to college, maybe!''

Now that gets Mr. Nick angry. ''Oh, no, lawyer, you don't! You've got Gene followin' in your academic footsteps. And that boy's mine and he stays on the ranch with me. Besides he wouldn't be any happier bein' cooped up inside all day than me.''

''That boy's wasted on the ranch! And don't you think we owe him more than a room to sleep in and a place at our table? With a formal education he could really make something of himself. Be his own man!''

''And who's to say he cannot do that right here?'' Mr. Nick booms and joins his brother at the fire.

''I say that. Because you won't let him out from under your thumb!''

They're lookin' daggers at each other.

''You're both forgetting something,'' Miz Victoria remarks calmly.

They both look at her as if noticin' her for the first time.

''You're both forgetting, as usual, to ask what Heath wants.''

''Well, then let's find out!'' says Mr. Jarrod, sittin' back down 'gain.

''He'll do as he's told,'' says Mr. Nick. ''And don't you dare puttin' funny ideas in his head!''

''We'll see about that,'' says Mr. Jarrod. ''I'll talk to him again in the morning. Find out what he wants.'' Mr. Nick scoffs. ''And perhaps find out more about his past.''

''His past is his business. And why is he suddenly talkin' to you of all people?'' Mr. Nick wants to know.

''If you would stop barking orders at him and instead started to actually talk to him and listen to what he has to say, Brother Nick, he probably would talk to you, too,'' Mr. Jarrod conters, a bit smug.

''Well, now -'' Mr. Nick flares up.

''Boys!'' Miz Victoria calls them to order. ''I think it's wonderful that he has finally opened up a bit, Jarrod. And your brother is not wrong, Nick, you do still treat him like a ranch hand who happens to live in the house.''

''Hrmpf,'' says Mr. Nick. ''By the way, does anyone know what he and Audra are up to in the barn? Yesterday I went over there and Silas popped out of the kitchen like a cork from a bottle and wouldn't let me go in there! Into my own barn! Said they were practisin' dancin'!''

Uh-oh. I'm quietly sidlin' back to the door.

''Apparently she is showing him the latest steps,'' Miz Victoria smiles. ''She told me so.''

''What for?'' Mr. Nick wonders.

''Well, there'll be a lot of socials come fall,'' Mr. Jarrod muses.

And I'm out!

**********

The next mornin' I'm back in the study with my trusty silver tray, servin' the coffee. Mr. Jarrod's already at his desk, workin' away, while Mr. Heath is standin' at the open window, lookin' out, when the tiniest whine escapes him.

Mr Jarrod looks up, chucklin', and says, ''That bad?''

''I don't know how you do it, Jarrod,'' Mr. Heath says, blushin' guiltily.

''Do what?''

''Sittin' behind a desk all day, every day.''

''Well, that already nearly answers the question I wanted to discuss with you this morning,'' says Mr. Jarrod.

''What question?'' asks Mr. Heath and goes to sit at the table where his paperwork awaits him.

Miraculously the loose paper stack has dwindled quite a bit and a few of them ledgers have been put away. He must've found that Rosetta stone of his. Which reminds me that I wanted to go look it up in Mr. Jarrod's big encyclopedia. Never heard of it before.

''I wanted to have a little talk with you about your education. Because it's not too late, you know. A formal education, college even, is still a possibility for you, if you so chose.''

Mr. Heath stares at him. ''Jarrod, I'm just a dumb cowpoke.''

That makes Mr. Jarrod laugh. ''Nice try, Heath. But really, aren't you curious about what you may have missed? Don't you want to know more about the world you live in? Live up to your full potential?''

Mr. Heath thinks a while. ''Of course I want to know more about the world and about just everythin'! That's why I'm readin' all those books, but -''

The door opens and Mr. Nick comes stridin' in and halts to stand between the two of them.

''I heard there's some brotherly discussion goin' on this mornin','' he booms in his usual stentatorian voice. ''You didn't mean to leave me out of it, did you?'' he demands, grinnin' wolfishly at Mr. Jarrod.

''Now, Nick, I've heard your opinion on the matter yesterday evening,'' says Mr. Jarrod, annoyed-like. ''What I'm interested in is Heath's take on the subject.''

''What subject?'' asks Mr. Heath.

''Formal education? College?''

''Heath?'' demands Mr. Nick.

''I don't think I'm cut out for that, Jarrod,'' Mr. Heath says apologetic-like, then looks pleadingly at Mr. Nick. ''I can't be indoors all day! Doin' paper work.''

''Well, then that's settled,'' states Mr. Nick, lookin' triumphantly at his older brother. Then he turns to Mr. Heath. ''And you can get out again as soon as Doc Merar clears you and you get that arm out of that sling. Meanwhile...'' his gloved hand knocks on the table, ''...paperwork it is.''

''Well, I rest my case,'' says Mr. Jarrod, after they're alone 'gain. ''Ranch work it is for you, Heath, if that's what you want.''

''Sorry, if I've disappointed you,'' Mr. Heath says softly.

''No,'' Mr. Jarrod says, standin' up and comin' over to the table, puttin' a hand on Mr. Heath's shoulder. ''It's about what you want, not what I might wish for you.''

He hitches a hip on the table and says, ''Yesterday we left off when you went to work at the livery stable. What happened next?''

Mr. Heath stops shufflin' papers 'round and thinks a while. ''Well, as I said, I helped Mr. Elkins. Nice man. Always let me ride his horses when they weren't needed. Wasn't particular when I had to go do somethin' else. I did a lot of odd jobs, too, most days. But when I was about twelve I went back to the mine. Had to, it paid more, and we needed the money.''

''Your mother let you be a charge boy again?''

''No, I was too big for that by then. Real work. Diggin'.''

Mr. Jarrod jus' shakes his head. When he was twelve, his days were spent goin' to school, doin' homework and chores. Which left him enough free time for readin' and fun.

Mr. Heath smiles at him. ''T'wasn't bad. I loved helpin' my mama. Of course, by then the mine was givin' out and there was less to do ev'ry day. So, when the enlistment officers finally came 'round, I signed up. Stupid thing to do.'' He sighs.

Mr. Jarrod looks at him intently. ''You menioned that once before. You were fourteen, I believe?''

''Yup.''

''Dear God, what were they thinking!''

''They were two years into a war everyone thought wouldn't take more'n a few months, and by then they were just thinkin' about getting every able bodied male out into the field. Besides, there were boys younger'n me in the war. Lots of'em. You must know that.''

''Yes,'' says Mr. Jarrod, ''I do. Still, it's somehow different when it's someone you know. So, drummer boy or horse handler – what was it?''

Mr. Heath goes very still. Lookin' down on his papers he says softly, ''Me? I was a sharpshooter.''

Mr. Jarrod actually blanches. ''You can't be serious,'' he says.

Mr. Heath looks up. ''I'm not lyin'.''

''I didn't mean to imply you were. I'm just... shocked, I think.''

''Soon as they found out I'd hit what I was aimin' at – off to Berdan's unit it was. I didn't like it.''

''I'm proud of you. That's an elite unit!''

Mr. Heath jus' snorts. ''Of course I knew when I signed up there would be fightin'. Killin'. The enemy. And then you look at them along that rifle barrel before you pull the trigger, and they're just people. And then they're not.'' He looks down and blinks. ''Told you I'm dumb.''

''I'm sorry, Heath,'' Mr. Jarrod says softly.

''No need to be. It's over.''

They're both silent for a while. Then Mr. Jarrod asks, ''Why were you so good with fire arms?''

Mr. Heath looks up at him. ''I've been huntin' since I was a little boy, Jarrod. With a slingshot first. Lots of squirrel and rabbit stew. Later... my mama had this old rifle. She must've bartered it for somethin', I don't know. Anyways, three women and a little boy – she thought it would be good to have for protection. Though how she'd have protected us with it I don't know. Perhaps she could've used it to hit someone over the head.''

He buries his face in his hands, makin' strangled noises, his shoulders twitchin'. Mr. Jarrod, lookin' alarmed, reaches out to him, when Mr. Heath looks up 'gain and we see he's actually laughin'.

''My mama, she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if it was ten feet in front of her! So, Aunt Rachel said she should let me have it. For huntin'. And my mama took me out one day, behind the cabin, to show me how it's done, and then she fired, and I don't know what she hit, but for sure not the can she was aimin' at, and the bullet richocheted and hit Mr. Church, the mine foreman, right in his... erm, behind. Poor man couldn't sit for days. Relations were rather strained for a while, let me tell you.'' He laughs out loud.

It's such a lovely sound. Infectious. A sound we don't hear often enough. He looks at Mr. Jarrod, who's laughin' too now, with streamin' eyes, and says, ''Boy howdy, haven't thought of that in years!''

''So, then you hunted with a rifle.''

''Only when I went for deer. Shells cost money. Stones don't.''

''Did you ever have to use that rifle in self-defense?'' Mr. Jarrod asks.

''Once or twice. Drunks mostly,'' Mr. Heath says, curtly, shutters goin' up 'gain.

Mr. Jarrod looks saddened.

''I was happy,'' Mr. Heath, he insists. ''We were poor, but so were most folks, and we had each other. Sure, there were some ladies who would've nothin' to do with us, but my aunt Rachel always said, 'Consider the source!' and then said that they prob'ly hadn't been ladies long enough to know how to behave like ones.''

''Nonetheless, that must've hurt.''

''Well, yes, what they said about my mama. Crossin' the street when they saw her comin'...''

I have to leave and start lunch, so I do.

**********

This evenin' at dinner Mr. Heath announces that he's goin' into town the next mornin' to see Doctor Merar. ''And then I'm ridin' out again,'' he says.

''Only if he clears you,'' says Mr. Nick.

''He will,'' Mr. Heath says confidently. ''Boy howdy, it's been eight days! I could've grown a whole new arm in that time!''

They chuckle. ''What about the stud books?'' grumbles Mr. Nick.

''All done.''

Too bad. I'll miss them talks.

''I will miss our conversations, Heath,'' Mr. Jarrod, he says fondly.

Mr. Heath jus' winks at him.

''Please don't overexert your arm, Heath,'' Miz Victoria says. ''Even if Doctor Merar says you may work again, I don't want you to do anything too strenuous.''

''No, ma'am.''

''No ropin'!'' Mr. Nick insist. ''No fence posts!''

Mr. Heath looks up. ''How about I ride out and just _look_ at everythin'?'' he suggests.

Mr. Nick stares him down, but not before his brother's sassy grin makes him grin himself.

**********

Later that evenin' when Miz Victoria and the two eldest sit in the library - Mr. Heath and Miss Audra are out in the barn 'gain, so I'm keepin' watch - I hear the part of that mornin's conversation I done miss.

''You seem to be far away tonight, dear'' says Miz Victoria to Mr. Jarrod who's starin' into the fire.

''Hm?'' he looks up from his contemplation. ''Oh, I was thinking about what Heath told me this morning.''

''I hope you've stopped badgerin' him with that nonsense about gettin' an education,'' Mr. Nick says quarrelsome. He's standin' at the mantle, smokin' a cigar.

''Don't worry, Nick, he's all yours. - Yesterday he told me that he started working at the livery stable when he was six or seven. Today he said he started working in the mine – real work, he called it, digging – when he was twelve. I mean think of ourselves at that age! Despite all that he thinks of his childhood as happy. It was... quite a humbling experience. I do recommend it, Brother Nick.''

''So, I need humblin', huh?'' Mr. Nick puffs 'round his cigar. ''Let me tell you somethin', counselor - I may be barkin' orders at him as you call it, and he says, 'Sure, Nick', but then goes and does what he thinks fit, and more often than not it turns out even better than I expected from him. So, I can't even complain,'' he complains. ''How's that for humblin', huh?''

It does seem the rebellion has started. But it's a quiet one. I can't help grinnin'. Mr. Nick would never tolerate such from one of the hired hands, but he accepts it from Mr. Heath. I call that progress. And he don't bark that much anymore, really.

Mr. Jarrod laughs. ''Touché, Nick! I'm glad you see it that way.''

Miz Victoria smiles fondly.

Gettin' serious 'gain, Mr. Jarrod goes on, ''Then, when he was fourteen, he signed up.''

''He mentioned that once,'' says Mr. Nick, sittin' down next to his brother. ''Same year I did.''

''Yes.''

''Lots of young boys in that war.''

''Yes,'' says Mr. Jarrod angrily, ''but this particular tow-headed little boy was Father's responsibility. And now ours. So, perhaps you'll understand why I'm trying to give him... more. More than room and board and work to do.''

How like Mr. Jarrod, I'm thinkin', who's been 'Pappy' to them all, to find this lost brother of his in the little boy he once was.

''He likes workin' hard,'' Mr. Nick says unyielding.

''That's not the point I'm trying to make!''

''Boys!'' Miz Victoria, she says, ''I do understand you, sweetheart,'' turnin' to Mr. Jarrod, ''but he's not a little boy anymore. He's a grown man now, and sad as it is, we can never make up for these missing years. They are gone. All we can do now is respect the decisions he makes for his future, and if he wants to work with you, dear Nick,'' turnin' to him, ''we have to let him.''

''Right,'' says Mr. Nick.

After a prolongued silence Mr. Jarrod says, ''He was with Berdan's in the war.''

''What? Never!''

''You think he's lying?''

''No. He don't lie. Don't brag either. It's just... I had no idea.''

''What are you talking about?'' Miz Victoria wants to know.

''The war, Mother,'' Mr. Nick explains. ''Jarrod's sayin' Heath was a sharpshooter.

''Fourteen years old and a sharpshooter.'' He shakes his head, lookin' into his glass. He seems proud.

''All over the theatre, he said,'' Mr. Jarrod goes on. ''Invading into enemy territory, doing what he had to, then waiting until the rest of the army caught up and trying to get back behind the lines. He was taken prisoner seven months before the end. Shipped off to Carterson. Lived through that hell hole, I don't know how. And then he clammed up and wouldn't say any more. I didn't have the heart to pry. You know the reports.''

''My God.''

''How bad was it?'' says Miz Victoria, lookin' at Mr. Jarrod.

''Believe me, Mother, you don't want to know.''

I retreat into my kitchen and make myself some tea.

**********

Later that night when the family has gone to bed, I wander through the house, straightenin' a few things, bankin' down the fires, dowsin' the lamps. I find that as I'm gettin' older I don't need that much sleep anymore. Well, I done taken to naps durin' the day, when I can get'em.

While I'm wanderin' along the upper hallway, I hear a soft sound comin' from behind Mr. Heath's door. There's no light in his room. I hesitate a moment, but then I open it and have a look inside. The scant light comin' from the hallway scarcely reaches inside the room and I can't hardly see nothin', but I hear him moanin'.

He does have dreams, sometimes, I've heard it before, but it's bad tonight. Mostly he's jus' moanin' and whimperin', not really sayin' anything. But now, as I shuffle forwards to his bed he's lyin' on his back, tossin' his head from side to side, softly moanin', ''No... no... no...''. That poor boy's in a bad place tonight. I think I better get'im outta there and grab his shoulder to wake him up. And with that cat-like agility that can erupt out of his stillness, I suddenly have a growlin' naked young man holdin' a knife to my throat.

I done try leave him nightshirts on his bed. No, sir. Then I done try the soft flanell sleepin' pants Mr. Nick uses. No to those, too. He keeps sleepin' in his alltogether. Pr'aps I should try one of Mr. Jarrod's silk pajamas? How come I'm thinkin' 'bout nightwear right now?

I softly pat his arm and try to look into his unfocused eyes, see awareness dimmin' there.

''Mr. Heath?'' I says. ''Heath-boy, put that away, you don't need no knife. Old Silas's not gonna harm you.''

''Silas?'' he says, slowly comin' back from far, far away.

I pat his arm 'gain and he goes limp and drops back onto the bed, then slips under the covers. He's prob'ly blushin' bright red by now, not that I can see, but the idea makes me grin.

''You jus' done have a bad dream, Mr. Heath,'' says I. ''Nothin' to it. Jus' thought I'd wake you up, get you outta there.''

He lets out a heavy sigh. ''Have I woke everyone up?''

''No,'' I reassure him. ''It's jus' me. And I only done hear it, because I was goin' by your door jus' now. Everythin's fine.''

He sighs 'gain, then asks, ''Mind lightin' the lamp?'' So I do.

He's tousled and sleepy lookin' and rubs his hands over his face, then says, ''Thank you. Wasn't a nice dream.''

''So I gathered. Don't you worry none. You should've heard Mr. Nick, when he was home right after the war. The first time he hollered 'Charge!' at the top of his lungs I done drop the lamp I was holdin', nearly set the place on fire.''

That makes him chuckle a bit.

''Sorry 'bout the knife,'' he says. ''I thought I was... some place else.''

Not sure what it says 'bout him feelin' safe in his own room, when he sleeps with a knife under his pillow. Does he ever feel safe? Anywhere?

''No harm done. You ready to go to sleep 'gain? Or do you want to come to the kitchen, have somethin' to drink?''

''No -'' he starts. And then Miss Audra screams.

He's outta the bed and into his pants before I can say, ''What the...'' and runs barefoot out of the room. I run after him.

Miss Audra's sittin' in the corner at the bottom of her bed, starin' at the wall above the headboard and jus' takes a deep breath before lettin' out a second bloodcurdlin' scream. I hear doors openin' all 'long the hallway and steps and alarmed soundin' voices and then they all tumble into the room in their dressin' gowns, gatherin' at the door.

''What? Where?'' Mr. Nick yells, wavin' his gun 'round.

Mr. Heath turns to them and grins. ''It's nothin'. Just spider alarm.''

''Take it away! Take it away, Heath!'' Miss Audra screams shrilly.

That Miss Audra! She's a ranch-girl born and bred and most critters don't worry her none, but there's exceptions. And one of them's sittin' right on the wall above her headboard. A big black cellar spider.

''Really, Audra,'' Miz Victoria says tiredly, ''must you wake everyone up? I thought the house was on fire.

''Can you boys take care of that?'' she asks no one in particular and leaves. Mr. Jarrod jus' shakes his head and follows her.

''A spider?'' Mr. Nick hollers. ''You wake me up because of a spider?''

''It's scary!'' she says defiantly. ''I couldn't sleep and lit the lamp because I wanted some water and there it was!''

Meanwhile Mr. Heath has climbed up on the bed and gathered the critter up. As he climbs down he brushes 'gainst Mr. Nick who shrinks back and asks, ''What'll you do with it?'' eyein' him suspiciously.

''I thought I put it in the barn. It can eat the flies that bother the horses,'' says Mr. Heath, ''unless you wanna shoot it?'' and offers his cupped hands to Mr. Nick, who waves him away with a disgusted expression. So, Mr. Heath leaves to do as he said.

''Just a little spider,'' grumbles Mr. Nick indignant-like and drops his gun into the pocket of his dressin' gown. ''You should know better, Missy.''

''I don't like them,'' Miss Audra says in a small voice.

''Man up, little sister!'' He advises and leaves. I hear him grumblin' all along the hallway.

I sigh. ''I'll warm you some milk, Miss Audra,'' I says. ''Then you can get back to sleep.''

When I'm back, Miss Audra's back under her covers and Mr. Heath's sittin' cross-legged on her bed facin' her.

''Do you think it was the only one?'' I hear her sayin' as I put down my tray with three mugs of warm milk. She's anxious lookin' 'round the ceiling. ''What if it has a bigger brother?''

''Nah,'' he says, ''if there was a Nick-spider, we'd have heard him by now.''

They both giggle like little children. They're such a joy in my life.

''You know, sis, I never cared much for spiders neither, but durin' the war I heard this story, don't know if it's true, but it's a nice story anyways.''

''About a spider?'' she says doubtful and takes the mug I'm handin' her.

''Yes, a nice spider who saved a soldier's life.

''Thank you, Silas,'' as I hand him his mug.

They both take a sip and I lean 'gainst Miss Audra's dresser with my own mug and listen to the storytellin'.

''There was this Union soldier, cut off from his platoon and with the rebs hot on his heels, he'd survived the night, but now it was comin' up dawn and he hid in an abandoned barn. He hid deep in the hay left there and hoped for the best. But then the rebs came and searched the barn and they stabbed into the hay with their bayonets – except for one corner, where a spider had woven a net across the hay. And so they thought he couldn't possibly be in there, because then the net would've been broken. But that was exactly where he was, and so he survived because of a busy little spider.''

He drains his mug and says, ''I must've heard that tale a dozen times durin' the war, and we were all thankful to that little critter, because one of us got away. So, that's why I like'm better now.''

''That _is_ a nice story,'' says she, yawnin' and lays back on her pillow.

He gets up and turns to the door when she says, ''And Nick doesn't like them much either.''

''I noticed,'' he says, grinnin', ''and I didn't put it in the barn.''

He winks at me and goes back to bed as Miss Audra giggles herself to sleep.

**********

I don't bother gettin' up for the turmoil two nights later. But when I straighten up Mr. Nick's room the next day, it seems that battle has been waged durin' the night. Why, it must've been the Nick-spider turnin' up.

''Why is it,'' asks Mr. Nick incensed, at breakfast that mornin', ''that everyone comes runnin' when _she_ screams, but no one shows up when I... er, have an emergency?''

''Because we're confident that you can deal with any crisis that might arise during the night, Brother Nick,'' says Mr. Jarrod seriously.

''Did you scream, Nick?'' Miss Audra asks, flutterin' her lashes. ''I didn't hear a thing.''

''I don't _scream_.''

''Then what was that sound, dear?'' says Miz Victoria. ''I didn't get up because I thought it was Audra again, and I felt sure you boys could handle it.''

They's all lookin' down now, concentratin' hard on their plates, only Miss Audra escapes a giggle that she masks with clearin' her throat.

''I may have voiced my displeasure.''

''At what?'' asks Mr. Heath, all innocence.

Mr. Nick glares at him through squinty eyes. ''Never you mind.''

''I would've come,'' Mr. Heath assures Mr. Nick, ''only t'was my first day workin' again. Was bushed. Slept like a log.''

''I dealt with it,'' Mr. Nick says grim faced.

I didn't hear a shot, so how, I wonder?

**********

Life goes on as it's in the habit of doin' and nothin' remarkable happens – unless you count that there's quite a few spiders invadin' the house this year. They seem to prefer Mr. Nick who even finds one in the bath tub one evenin'. Oh my. The days and weeks fly by, late summer meltin' into fall, until, without anyone really noticin', it's suddenly goin' on Thanksgivin'.

One fine mornin' Miz Victoria leaves for Stockton in her buggy to visit Father Nichols at the mission church, tellin' me she won't be back for lunch. I'm sittin' at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, but I musta drowsed off, because the earthquake takes me by surprise.

I wake up to some funny dronin' noise and clashin' and clinkin' and the first thing I see is my coffee mug hoppin' 'long on the table. Then I hear Mr. Nick yellin' for Mr. Heath to get the horses outta the stable and the men outta the bunkhouse. What are they doin' here? Is it that late? Lunch! I try to catch my coffee mug, but by then the cups and plates come jumpin' outta the cupboards, so I get up and try to catch those. But I'm wobbly and also outnumbered as everythin' seems to have a mind of its own and nothin' wants to stay in its place.

Sal Li comes runnin' in and grabs my sleeve. ''Silas! Glound shakin! Come! Come!'' he cries, and I give up and we run outside. There's mayhem, too. Men are runnin' 'round, horses are screamin' in terror and Mr. Nick vaults over the paddock door jus' before the stable beams come crashin' down, missin' him by a hair.

''Oh, my kitchen!'' moans Sal Li, standin' in the yard and rockin' to and fro. ''My fine stove! Oh, my plates! My mugs!''

What does he have to wail 'bout? The plates and mugs in the bunkhouse kitchen are made of tin! What 'bout my fine china? Oh my, oh my, the crystal! The chandeliers! Where is everyone?

''Ealth dlagon angly!'' Sal Li declares. ''Vely angly! Evelything bang!'' He keeps on yammerin' in Chinese while I run 'round the house to look for the children. Everyone has made it out all right. Thank heaven! They're all there. And nobody's harmed. Thank the good Lord! And the ground comes to a rest.

I wonder what may have happened in town? Was it as bad as here? Oh, I hope those poor souls in Stockton are allright. But there will be people injured, may be even dead. And often after an earthquake there's a fire and with all those wooden buildings... Oh, my dear God, what 'bout Miz Vctoria? I pray she's safe.

One of the hands comes leadin' Coco and Jingo and Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Nick mount up.

''Stay out of the house and keep everybody out in the open!'' Mr. Jarrod commands. ''We'll be back as soon as we find Mother.''

''I'll come with you,'' Mr. Heath offers.

''No, Heath, you stay here and take charge!'' orders Mr. Nick.

''She was going to visit Father Nichols,'' Miss Audra says. ''Try the church first!''

''Right,'' Mr. Nick says and they're off.

Oh me, oh my. I jus' hope Miz Victoria's all right. What shall we do? What can we do? If we can't go into the house? I wonder what it looks like inside? Oh my, oh my. We've our work cut out for us.

Mr. Heath gathers the hands and we start clearin' off the debris outside, fallen timbers, crashed tiles, splintered glass. Miss Audra laments the state of Miz Victoria's rosegarden. The gazebo's all in splinters. Then she pitches in, too.

After two hours or so we've roughly cleared up. Mr. Heath done told the men to make up a makeshift kitchen outside and Sal Li's busy preparin' a very late lunch for everyone.

Miss Audra's sittin' on them porch stairs - all cracked up and dusty - them stairs, but Miss Audra's sure dusty, too - takin' a breather, when Mr. Heath comes over, dustin' himself off with his hat, then slumps down beside her, exhausted, and says, ''Well, the bunkhouse's buckled, but no one's got hurt. We'll all sleep out, I guess.''

''I guess so,'' she says unhappy.

Oh, no. I don't want to sleep outside. My poor old bones do need a bed at night.

''The earth shakes, but the sun still shines,'' Mr. Heath remarks wondering.

Suddenly they turn to each other and say at the same time, ''I'm tired of waiting!''

''Heath, I'm going into town to look for Mother!'' Miss Audra says.

''I'm goin' with you! The ranch won't disappear.''

How does he know that? The ground could crack open anytime. The earthdragon may yet eat us all!

And so they too run off to Stockton and leave us here. I'm real tired. I think I too will have me a breather. And pr'aps some lunch, if Sal Li will provide.

**********

Perhaps we can go in the house 'gain? The earth hasn't shook no more. Can we clear off the beds at least? I talk to Mr. McCall and we decide we should have us a look.

Oh dear. Everythin's shook up. What was up on tables, shelves and walls lies on the floor, shattered and broken. Even Mr. Tom has come down! That won't do! That won't do at all. I gather him up and dust him off with my sleeve.

''There you go, Mr. Tom,'' I says. At least his frame isn't broke. So, I hang him up 'gain. Dang earthquake, darin' to throw Mr. Tom off his wall!

Mr. McCall has sent for Consuelo - she's Ciego's wife and she and her daughters do the heavy cleanin' here, scrubbin' the floors and beatin' the carpets and such – and she and her eldest arrive in time to take care of it all. Soon we have at least gathered most of the broken things and straightened out the bedrooms, so's no one has to bed down outside tonight. Praise be. Everythin' else can wait. Though how I will ever get the potted plants clean of all the plaster dust is beyond me.

Then I hear hoof beats and Mr. Heath comes thunderin' back at a full gallop, throws himself off his horse and runs for where the bunkhouse was. ''Jeb! Jeb Wilson!'' I hear him cryin' out.

Jeb's our oldest. Don't do much anymore but odd jobs, but has a place on the pay roll and in the bunkhouse. The family won't sent him off after bein' here so many years.

I wander after Mr. Heath to hear 'bout Miz Victoria and find him standin' at the paddock with some of our men.

''Come on, there must be an openin' somewhere;'' he cries. ''Doesn't anybody know?'' He seems quite desperate. What in heaven's name's goin' on?

''Seems to me,'' Jeb says ponderin', ''finished minin' we closed it up.''

''All the openings?'' asks Mr. Heath.

''I think,'' says Jeb, rubbin' his chin, ''there was one of the openings in Little Canyon.''

''We've got to find it!'' says Mr. Heath.

''I said was. Likely it's all grown over. Never find it now.''

''You'll find it!'' insists Mr. Heath, grabbin' old Jeb by the arm. ''Get on your horse.''

''I... I don't hardly remember.''

''The ride'll jog your memory. And you,'' Mr. Heath turns to one of the hands, ''ride into town and tell my brothers to bring dynamite and picks and shovels and meet us in Little Canyon!''

The man hops to it and I can't help but marvel at the difference from not so long ago when none wanted to do what Mr. Heath told them. And off they all are, before I can even ask what's happened.

Dynamite? Picks? Shovels? Sounds bad. Whatever has befallen Miz Victoria, it's serious. I start prayin' whilst I'm straightenin' out my kitchen. Please, Lord, let them all come home 'gain. Please protect Miz Victoria. We can't do without her. She's the center of the family, its loadstone. Everything would fall apart without her. I can't bear thinkin' of it. I can't bear thinkin' at all, so I jus' keep prayin'.

**********

They all come home together short after nightfall, lookin' much the worse for wear. But who cares as long as they're all healthy! Thank you, Lord, oh, thank you.

''Silas! You've worked wonders! I thought everything would be in shambles,'' Miz Victoria exclaims as she looks 'round the foyer. Well, I don't know 'bout that, but it certainly don't look too bad anymore.

''Is there still a bottle of champagne in the house that's not broken?'' Mr. Jarrod wants to know.

I go lookin' and return triumphant.

''Let's have some!'' Mr. Nick booms.

Soon we's all clinkin' glasses – yes, me too! - and Mr. Jarrod cries, ''A toast! To Mother!''

''To Mother!'' they all repeat - even Mr. Heath, darin' to call her that to her face for the first time. He has referred to her as 'Mother' when talkin' to the others for some time now, as if tryin' out if someone would forbid it, and now he's lookin' a bit unsure 'bout it all. The sweet fool don't realize they all been waitin' for it.

''And to Brother Heath, who found her!'' Mr. Jarrod calls out 'gain.

''To Brother Heath!'' they all cry - Mr. Nick, too - and then Miz Victoria flies into Mr. Heath's arms and kisses him soundly on the cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed that I've broken with fanon where Heath works as a charge boy when he's practically a toddler (I swear, writers make him younger every time I'm looking!). If *I* were Leah, I'd rather prostitute myself than let my six year old work in a mine. But that's just me. I'm probably not quite such a goood woman as Leah was.


End file.
